Sherlock OneShots
by Haruhi-sama
Summary: A collection of One-shots based on BBC Sherlock.   No consistent plotline or anything... just... one-shots. Enjoy.
1. Change in the game

Slamming up against the wall, Sherlock twisted his head so he wouldn't break his nose from the impact and also to aid his visual of his attacker. John was out tonight, a date with some tall, willowy-bodied, dark haired woman who was nothing like John's type and was already occupied in an on-off relationship with her ex who currently was suffering from genitial warts... he wouldn't be back for another 2 hours at least, which meant that either this attacker was very good at cooincidence or he had been watching 221B for quite a while. Really, Sherlock was pretty happy that John wasn't here as his attacker suddenly gripped his wrists and shoved him back against the wall, giving Sherlock a clear view of his face.  
><strong>"Oh Sherly, you better watch out. My gun might go off prematurely if we stay at this close proximity."<strong> Moriarty sniggered, pressing his body into Sherlock's back and beginning to nibble lightly on the earlobe that was so perfectly presented to him from the way that Sherlock's head was twisted. He heard a small gasp leave Sherlock's lips, which made Moriarty smile and roughly bite down on the consulting detective's now sensitive ear until the gasp had turned into a hiss and the thin frame that was trapped within Jim's grasp began to squirm.  
><strong>"What game are you playing this time, Moriarty?"<strong> Sherlock snarled, his voice barely more than a whisper as he bit down on his lip. Feeling Moriarty buck up against him, the criminal's hard length pressing up against him even through the layers of trousers and underwear between them, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a small twinge of fear rumble in his stomach.  
>Jim moved away from Sherlock's ear and moved downwards, licking a line from ear down along the tendon of neckbefore finally finding the protruding collarbone. Sherlock was unintentially arching his head up, almost inviting him in to the beautiful collar and that long neck of his.<strong> "Not a game this time, Sherly, so~rry!"<strong> He laughed, nipping at the collarbone and grinding the skin and bone under his teeth until he was sure there would be a bruise. **"This time, I'm not playing around with you... I want to play _with_ you."** His voice ended on a growl as he suddenly twirled Sherlock around by the wrists until he was back against the wall and mouth full of criminal tongue and rough want.


	2. Meeting of the LiveIns

It wasn't really a shock that John and Sebastian would meet - I mean, they both vacate a home in London and they both don't have very reliable flatmates so of course they'd bang into each other when they were out shopping. John had been forced to leave the house to retrieve more milk and jam thanks to an accident on Sherlock's part which resulted in 6 week old eyeballs rolling around in both jar and jug. Sebastian had been forced to go to the shops for a similar reason, but his wasn't eyeball-related... his was more of the lead bullets embedded in the freezer at 4am that resulted in a complete loss of all frozen food that they had stored related.

John had been struggling to reach the shelf which now contained the strawberry jam as Sebastian moved over to the opposite side of the aisle to grab some mustard, both not meeting each other's gaze nor even noticing the others presence until a sudden slip of a certain doctors' shoe caused a trip backwards and a collosion of army veterans. Sebastian dropped the jar as the sudden noise of someone coming behind him made him jump into action, spinning around and catching John from behind before throwing him down onto his knees. He was used to being jumped by Jim but this was different, and once the adreneline rush stopped and the realisation of public eye kicked in Sebastian swallowed deep. John had had a similar rush of adreneline which had resulted in the cock of a gun and the aiming of a barrel at Sebastian's chest. His realisation kicked in a few seconds after Sebastians, causing him to swiftly move up from the ground he'd been thrown down on and pocketed the gun that he had almost let off.

The two men glanced at each other, embarrassment in both men's faces and shame in both of their eyes as they sized up each other. Sebastian knew exactly who this was, which made this even more awkward. John, on the other hand, simply saw a man twice his size whom he vaguely recognised from some long time ago... They didn't speak to each other, they didn't even apologise to each other but simply nodded in apology and then went back to what they were doing beforehand, completely ignoring the fact that they had both responded in identical ways. Completely oblivious to the fact that they had both ended up in the same supermarket under similar circumstances. Completely unknowledgable of the fact that they would both be seeing more of each other from then on.


	3. Just his job

**"I don't think this is necessary... I can walk myself."**

**"And you'll walk yourself right into another complete mess, won't you? Not happening."**

**"But what's the problem? I thought you liked that about me?"**

**"I'm doing this for your own good, Sherlock."**

**"You are no fun."**

John flung Sherlock down onto the couch once they got into 221B, groaning in annoyance as he stared down at the bloody, beaten and bruised flatmate that he had just had to carry in and out of both a building and a taxi. He'd chased Sherlock across town, into an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, and then finally into the room which Sherlock had apparently gained a photo of from their beloved best friend Moriarty - all this, just to find a bomb with 20 seconds left on the timer and two flights of stairs to get down.** "You honestly thought it was a smart idea to chase after some stuff little puzzle he left you? You thought that everything would be perfectly okay if you just ran into an obvious trap?"** John snarled, back against the door as he watched Sherlock wipe the blood from his lip and then begin to thoroughly examine what John had already figured out was a broken ankle. **"No warning me! No telling me that this was all about him! We could have died!"**

**"Well, as you can obviously see, we did not."** Sherlock responded cooly, turning his icy blue eyes onto John as he moved to sit properly on the couch with his leg propped up against the table across from him. **"I don't see the problem."**

**"The prob-"** John had to stop to laugh, moving forward to stare at Sherlock angrily **"The problem is a ceiling fell on us and I had to drag you out from under a bloody collapsed wall!"**

**"I've never broken my ankle before."** Sherlock mused, ignoring John's growlings and grumblings as he slowly twisted and twirled his foot despite the pain that was raging through his leg. **"I better not get any cases for the next few days, I can't run around town with a broken ankle..."**

**"A few days? You need to go to Barts right now and get that cast in plaster for the next few weeks, you dick!"**

**"I know how long it takes for a bone to mend, John, all I'm saying is that I won't be able to move it properly for a few days. It will hurt but that doesn't mean that I have to sit around here with m-"**

**"YES IT DOES."** John shouted, his hands darting up to his head as he roughly tugged on his hair in frustration.** "No cases. No running around. No 'few days'. You're going to St. Barts, you are getting your foot put in a cast and you are going to rest for the next few weeks to assure that your ankle will full recover!"**

**"... You really are worried about me, aren't you, John?"** Sherlock smirked, his eyebrow raised in humour as he stared at John's flushing face.

**"I just- I'm a doctor! It's my job!"**

**"Ya-huh..."**

**"Shut up."**


	4. For a Case

"**Put this on."** Sherlock's sharp voice rang from the kitchen as John entered the apartment, frowning at the sudden demand that he received and the garments that had just been thrown directly in his face.

John snapped the door shut, staring over at where Sherlock was in confusion, seeing him beginning to unbutton his shirt before diving back into the kitchen to retrieve what John figured was his set of garments. **"What is this for? A case?"**

"**Exactly. I've tracked down the culprit to a nearby bar, but we can't go in as ourselves, he'll notice. We need to wear a disguise, ergo—"**

Bending down, John picked up the clothes that had been thrown at him and his frown grew deeper as he finally noticed what he had just been given. Flipping them over in his hands, he couldn't help but scoff in surprise before finally looking over towards where Sherlock was standing. **"Are these lea—"**

"**Leather pants, a size too small. A plain white shirt, also tightly fitting, and a part of checkered shoes to go with."** Sherlock stated plainly as John began to question, peering around the kitchen wall at the squatting figure of his flatmate. **"Problem?"**

"**Eh… yeah, a problem. I'm not wearing these."** John said, moving up with the clothes and the shoes gathered up in his arms. Moving over to the couch, he threw the clothes down and sighed. **"I mean, Security guards and reporters and priests are one thing but—"**

"**Oh."** Sherlock grinned his typical 'I understand completely and this amuses me beyond comprehension' smile as he looked over at John**. "You don't want to pretend to be a homosexual?"**

"**No, that isn— wait. What?" **John spun around to stare at Sherlock and almost choked on air as he finally got a proper look at what Sherlock was wearing. Skinny black jeans, fluorescent pink shirt and yellow canvas shoes. This was… **"You're trying to look gay?"**

"**Well, yes. He is going to be visiting his local gay bar so—"**

"**No, no no no."**

"**No what?"**

"**I am not dressing up and going to a gaybar with you. People will talk."**

"**People always do."**

* * *

><p><strong>"Stop grabbing my ass! People are looking!"<br>"We have to be convincing, John. We're a couple, remember?"  
>"We are NOT..."<strong>

**"-for the case."**  
>John coughed lightly as he caught Sherlock's slightly hurt voice, glancing over at the man who currently had a pair of neon pink glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a rather aggressive-looking pout on his face. He didn't know why but the look that he was receiving from Sherlock wasm aking him feel... what was it? Guilty? Yeah. It was guilt. Guilty for not letting Sherlock pinch his arse or slip that slender hand into the backpocket of his jeans like a lover would do. It just... it wasn't something he was... okay, Mr. John "Three Continents" Watson was no stranger to men but with Sherlock it felt... It's not like he hadn't talked about Sherlock like that to Sarah, thought about Sherlock when he was out on a date with someone or finding himself imagining Sherlock while masturbating but that didn't mean...<p>

Suddenly, those slender fingers wrapped around John's chin and slid along his cheek until his face was now cupped in Sherlock's hand. Gulping, he stared up at Sherlock with a mix of confusion and anger as he was pulled closer to the bizarre but beautiful man. "What are yo-" John was cut off from his question, almost choking on them as he took an intake of breath as those bright pink lips met his own. The pressure of Sherlock's lips pressing against his made John's head spin, the feel of Sherlock's hand stroking his cheek completely destroyed his self control. His lips began to part and the desperation grew even more as his tongue pushed against Sherlock's lips, which opened willingly and began to suck on John's tongue lightly before meeting it with his own. This wasn't something he had expected. Not at all. He'd expected just visual disguise, not an actual... physical... Oh fuckit. John didn't care. This was beautiful. Without knowing, his hands hand wrapped around Sherlock's long, fascinating neck and tugged him closer. Sherlock almost tripped into John, the kiss continuing despite his stumble, and their hips slammed against one another as their bodies lost all space between them.

After what felt like forever, John felt Sherlock stop the kiss and felt the heavy breathing against his forehead as Sherlock stopped crouching to meet John's height.** "I-I think he's stopped studying us." **Sherlock stated breathlessly, coughing slightly as he moved out of John's arms and straightened up. **"He was... he was getting suspicious... ha-had to make us look..."**

**"... oh."** Realisation swept over John as Sherlock spoke, ignoring the embarrassed tone in the consulting detective's voice as he did so. His stomach twisted with emotion as he stared at Sherlock whose lips were red and seemed slightly swollen from the sucking and pressing kisses that they had endured. He'd done it for the case... John had almost forgotten that that was why they were here. A case. How could John have been so stupid to have forgotten?


	5. Never get boring

Do you know what it feels like to look at someone, watch them from afar and know that they don't want anything to do with you? Do you know what it feels like to be so interested, so intrigued, so obsessed with someone that you'd do anything just to get their attention? Send a text, send a card, make friends with theirs, find out their phone number, scratch their car, stalk their house, learn their timetable, find their workplace, kill someone… just to get their attention? Well, maybe not the last one but Jim knew what it felt like. Sure, he made a living out of it now. Following and stalking and learning and knowing and kidnapping and trapping and killing… all so he could get a flash of acknowledgement from the man he so desperately wanted. He knew it was bad, he knew it was wrong and he knew… oh, he knew that this would not end with them both getting out alive. That didn't matter to him, though. It didn't matter because it would be worth it in the end. Obviously, it was going to be worth it in the end. When the devil came knocking on his door to take what he was owed, Jim would know that he'd done the right thing because he didn't die bored.

See, that was the one thing Jim hated. He didn't like being bored. The only problem with that was that pretty much most of everything bored him. Puzzles. People. His parents. Sure, he killed them after a while. They were too boring. They were hobbling along, trying to prevent him from being entertained so they had to be stopped. And then, he had fun with them being stopped because that meant that he could spend his time covering it up and making it look like a robbery gone wrong. Acting to the Gardai, crying and snivveling to those stupid little idiots who believed that he was just an innocent young teenager who had just become an Orphan. Yeah, it was easy but it was fun. It was fun to watch his family weep and his relatives shiver in the rain as they buried those two together in a nice little pile of dirt in a catholic graveyard. He stood by the sidelines, watching as they piled the dirt into the grave and it took so much effort not to smile. He went to school and he was bored there, so he cheated and he stole and he caused teachers to be fired and he ended up in therapy. That was fun too. People trying to work out what was wrong with him. Trying to break him, trying to figure out if he was 'acting out' because of what happened to his parents. Honestly, these people were so stupid that it was amazing. Ordinary, boring but yet interestingly funny people. After a while, his therapist gave up and he was slapped with a Sociopath title. He didn't like that. Sociopath wasn't fun. Sociopath was boring. He much preferred Psychopatch.

When he moved to England in his later teens, Psychopath was what he truly became. He learnt how to cover his tracks once more and he did so with such beauty… but then, hiding his crimes got boring. He preferred to be chased. He preferred to be noticed. He wanted to be noticed. He wanted to be entertained.

And then, came Sherlock. He noticed. He found out. He began to search and he began to track and he began to tie the strings together… oh, the fun he was having was creating such fun for Jim. Fun was what he needed. Fun was what he craved and Sherlock reeked of fun. He was smart, he was sharp, he was quick, he was rude, he was perfectly interesting… he was new and he was the most beautiful mind that Jim had ever seen. Jim couldn't help himself. Jim had to play with Sherlock more. Dangle the thread and watch the cat paw and claw its way, hopelessly trying to grab the truth. Watching Sherlock struggle and watching him stumble and watching him almost die… beautiful. Poetic. But Jim didn't want Sherlock to die, no. He wanted Sherlock alive. At least, until he got boring.

_Oh god, please never let Sherlock get boring. _


	6. The Proposition

**"Wakey wakey, my little assassin. I have work for yooou~!"  
><strong>Seb blinked into consciousness as a soft, lilting voice sung him back into reality. Wriggling, he attempted to move from where he was sitting but he found himself restrained and aching from head to toe. His mind was trying to go through the last few hours that he remembered, attempting to figure out exactly what had happened and what he could do to resolve this shit that he was obviously in. He remembered his last job - two hours of lying in wait, finger on the trigger, eyes on the window awaiting his victim to arrive. Smart Irish businessman, he figured as much from the suit and slicked back hair, who had just managed to slaughter a group of high-class aristocrats and was now about to have a bullet through his brain. The man had arrived back to his apartment, walked into his livingroom, threw his mobile phone into his pocket, and then slowly turned to stare out of his window. Sebastian could clearly recall the eyes that bore into him, almost staring past the sight of his gun and burning his soul. Then there was nothing left to recall. His mind was lost.  
>Now, Seb was staring into those same eyes. There was obviously no understanding of physical space when it came to this man before him as he could literally feel the warm breath of this man against his face. The look that he was gaining from these dark eyes made him feel so frightened, so fearful... that was something completely and utterly new for colonel Sebastian Moran. After a few silent minutes and rapid heartbeats, the evil eyes moved backwards and Sebastian could properly study this man. It was the same man that he had been ordered to kill. Fuck. This meant that he wasn't just going to be probably tortured, but he was not going to end up getting paid. This was a really fucking bummer.<p>

Trying to remember exactly what this man was called, Sebastian kept watching as the man slowly stopped walking and grinned a tiger-like grin as he stared. **"You know, I'm pretty happy that you are as good as I'd heard. I mean, you wouldn't have found my apartment if you weren't useful."** Shrugging, he turned around so his back was to Seb and begun to laugh**.  
>"That's why I hired you! I wanted to see how good you really were and- HERE YOU ARE! You're perfect!"<strong>

**"What the fuck are you ta-"**

**"I hired you to kill me. Isn't it obvious?"**

The man called out with delight, moving over to Sebastian and gesturing with excitement as he did so. He was once again barely a foot away from Sebastian's face as he crouched down to smirk at him. **"I had to find out if you were worth it and once you found me, I just..." **Clapping his hands together, he could have almost danced as he received the confused and very amusing look from Sebastian. Skipping around the chair that Sebastian was bound to, the suit-wearing eccentric quickly cut through the ropes that held Seb there and sighed with delight. **"Now, if you try to kill me then I may just have to throw you out that window, and we're on the seventh floor so I don't think your brains will look very pretty down there!" **

Sebastian couldn'thelp but be highly confused by this slim Irish man, not used to being released from bindings nor being hired to kill the person who hired him. I mean, who did that? And what did he mean, to find out if he was worth it? Worth the money? Who did this suited dick think he was? Some type of assassin critic? Great. Moving his hands around from behind the chair and rubbing his wrists lightly, he studied where the ropes had been and noticed the lack of rope-burn. This dude must be an expert at tying someone without leaving incriminating marks... interesting. **"Who are you?"  
><strong> **"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" **Jim Moriarty drew out the last letter of the greeting, almost singing it as he twirled around to face Sebastian once more. **"And I'd like to hire you."  
><strong>Sebastian's eyebrow rose as he sat up into the chair so he could be more comfortable, studying Jim as he did so.**  
>"- to kill you again?" <strong>He asked, a smirk on his lips as he asked this. Right now, killing him was an even better idea to Seb. He'd just been knocked out, tied up and fooled around by this dickhead so killing him would be perfect. **"You funny little ordinary person and your silly little mind! No. As a gunman, a bodyguard, a sniper and a personal assistant, of course!" **Moriarty suddenly sat down on the floor before Sebastian, a grin plastered across his pale face as he stared up at him. **"Let's make this interesting! Live-in one. My house, my spare room, my car - you, tied to me forever. Or at least until I get bored of you."**

**"... and if I say no?"**

**"Don't even pretend that you don't want to work with me." **Moriarty snapped, suddenly dropping the sing-song voice and the grin for a death-glare and a serious tone of speech. **"You are interested by me. You are curious as to how you were hired to kill me and yet I'm still alive - you always get your man, even if they did hire you themselves. You enjoy danger and you can already tell that I am dangerous, thus you will stay with me.. until, as I said, I get bored with you. So don't act as if you don't want this job." **

Sebastian couldn't deny it, really. He did enjoy danger. Of course he did, he loved the thrill of the chase when it came to stalking his prey. He loved to watch and wait to strike, the adreneline rush was almost orgasmic as he did so. Yes, Sebastian had already agreed to work for this bizarrely bipolar Irish man. **"Yeah, sure, I'll work for you."**

**"Good boy."**


End file.
